


to be satisfied

by goomyfish



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! 5D's
Genre: Blood and Gore, Enemies to Lovers, Exes, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Treasonshipping - Freeform, past Toolshipping, theyre gonna fuck i just dont wanna add the tags until that chapter is done and cruelly bait ppl
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:54:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24107077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goomyfish/pseuds/goomyfish
Summary: Some days, Kiryu finds the picture frame laying face-down.
Relationships: Fudou Yuusei/Kiryuu Kyousuke
Comments: 9
Kudos: 47





	1. lonely moments just get lonelier the longer you're in love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters that contain graphic violence or sex will have an asterisk* in the title; see index for reference.

_I surrender my desire for a logical culmination. I surrender my desire to be healed._ _The blurriness of being alive._

— _Self Portrait Against Red Wallpaper_ , Richard Siken

* * *

There’s a ghost that haunts the empty chairs at the kitchen table. 

The pan left overnight to soak sizzles sometimes, like he’s still there making eggs. Kiryu wonders where his hallucinations end and reality begins, but he figures that in the end, he is bound to death as its witness. May as well keep the dead company. 

So he listens while the ghost snores in the vacant space on the beat-up couch, types on clacking keys at the rightmost desktop in the garage, watches the sun rise as he cradles the kitten Yusei brought home, letting rosy dawn wash over them. Kiryu has never met that man, living or dead. But when the apartment is quiet—when the low hum of the fridge and the microwave and the drill bits and the D-Wheel engines fall silent—he can feel that the ghost is there.

He's seen him only once: a photo on Yusei's desk, propped up next to the first monitor on the left. Seven smiling faces. Two kids, a king, a crow, a witch, a mechanic, and a shooting star. They're a fairy tale on a rubber-asphalt road, a story children whisper to each other in the urban playgrounds of Neo Domino City. A story with a happy ending for everyone.

Some days, Kiryu finds the frame laying face-down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! this will be my first longfic, so i'm very excited and want to polish each chapter as much as i can. it's around 7000 words so far in gdocs, and contains just about every ounce of my love for yusei and kiryu (and daisuki bruno-chan, of course).
> 
> that said, I AM SEEKING A BETA READER! if you are familiar with 5D's (as not to spoil others) and confident in your editing skills, i'd really appreciate some feedback. i'll only ask you to look at the work one chapter at a time, as in you aren't obligated to continue beta-ing the entire work! others can sub in for the following chapter, if available.
> 
> thanks for your consideration! leave a comment or dm me on twitter @handlesscombos if you're interested. <3


	2. about a boy who's bleedin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crow phones a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >>> small warning for implied suicide attempt.

"Can you swing by for a few days? Maybe a week? You can hole up at my place.”

Kiryu snorts. "You really called to make me go on vacation?” There’s a crack and hiss as he pops open a bottle of root beer from the general store down the street, swinging his legs onto the table. “I can't leave West and Nico for that long, Crow. Wouldn't mind a day trip to catch up, but-"

"Kiryu. I need help, and you’re the only person I can ask."

That's a tone he knows to trust; it’s rare to see Crow’s feather-light gray eyes harden to steel. Kiryu leans forward a little, resting his chin on one fist and as he looks into the screen. "What's going on?"

A sigh crackles from the other end of the signal. "It’s not like- well, okay, before you freak out: Yusei’s doing fine. Physically. But checking in on him on and off for two years, you notice things. Not just how tired he always looks, but… you know he still lives alone? Never put out an ad for roomies or ask coworkers or anything. You know that’s weird for him.”

Of course Kiryu knows. Yusei doesn't say a word when he's hurting; he just picks up a wrench and sticks his face into the nearest engine so nobody can see. Which is to say, he’s the kind of person who needs companionship, or he'll work himself to death. Whether that comes in the way of Satellite greasemonkeys and duel gangs or a bushel of orphans, it’s all the same one way or another. Companionship is where he gets that unyielding strength and resilience—where he formed his sense of self at the bottom of the gutter, shining like a new star rising from a black hole. 

“Yeah,” Kiryu says. “Doesn’t bode well.” 

“Mhm.” Crow frowns. "That and, like I said, he looks real run-down every time we chat. He says it's 'cause his new job is busy, and that's not really a lie, sure, but you know what I mean. It’s all the little things. I popped over to visit, and he still had boxes to unpack in the garage. Two years, man,” he sighs. “That’s just depressing. And you know what else? The blankets on that shitty cot were all mussed up. I bet he’s still sleeping there. Even with enough empty rooms upstairs for around five people. Y’know, with real beds."

“Did anything happen recently to make it worse?”

Crow shakes his head. “He’s still taking it hard. Aki tried getting him to open up a little about it, but it didn’t go anywhere. Jack,” he scoffs. “He’s still MIA. I think he’s called a few times, but whatever. Doesn’t even tell us when he’s touring nearby. We find out when the posters go up, just like everybody else.”

“Sounds about right,” Kiryu says with a nostalgic smile. “Jack gets a kick out of being a celebrity. It’s his own roundabout way of showing you he’s doing fine.”

“Pff, okay. Some way of showing it," Crow says, folding his arms. Kiryu has long accepted that those two will butt heads until the end of time. All’s well in the world. "Anyway, forget him. It just feels like all I can do is drop Yusei a line, tell him I’m here to hang around and shoot the shit, but... I guess that’s not what he needs, this time. ‘Specially if he won’t talk about it. He takes his time with things, but never this long- well, there was back when we were kids,” he mutters. “But you’re the one who came back.”

“Despite all my best efforts, too.” Kiryu croaks out a sardonic chuckle, and it’s probably not funny (Crow isn’t laughing), but dying a few times more than the average man has gifted him a morbid sense of humor that stuck. “I’m kidding. Relax.” He teeters back, lowers his legs so he can stand up and stretches. His long black coat rests on the back of his chair; he tugs it up and slips it on one arm at a time. “I'll hit town in about two hours. See you then.”

"You got it, man." Crow grins, thumping his chest and flashing a victory sign. “We’ll talk more when you’re here. Don’t get lost!”

The feed blips offline. With a gentle click, Kiryu closes his laptop and tucks it into a bag, along with a few days’ worth of clothes. 

_ You showed up for me. _

He smiles faintly as he heads out to the front porch where West and Nico are playing ball and jacks. They’ll manage for a little while. Probably go stay at the neighbors’ house—if it takes a village to raise a kid, Satisfaction Town is a great place to be. Damn well, too, after all it took to nail in the splintering planks, paint the faded signs, tidy up the mountain graveyard with proper graves and lilies of white. After all it took to be standing on his own two feet in the dusty afternoon sun, Kiryu takes a deep breath of the desert air.

_ My turn. _


	3. friend, what's the point of saying?

The lab is all color and shimmering chrome, anything but the oppressive brutalist structure Kiryu had dreamt up the night before in Crow’s spare cot. There aren’t any buzzing fluorescent lights or rigid sci-fi cubes floating around (where the hell did he get floating cubes from, anyway?), there’s just an open expanse of warm yellow overhead lamps and chattering people in white coats and turtlenecks. Pff, Yusei with a turtleneck _and_ a lab coat? No way. He’d suffocate in anything but a low-collared tee. Then again, he really did like that poncho he got in town, and he even kept it as a parting gift- come to think of it, he ditched his team vest a long, long time ago, too. Does he still have it in his closet somewhere? Now he wears a jacket most of the time, even in the desert heat. Must be the feel of the fabric on his arms. Maybe the safety that comes with covering up the scars. Maybe the security in knowing that nobody can see. Maybe all three of those things mean the same thing. Or maybe Kiryu feels a little underdressed in his usual getup with not a single “business casual” piece of clothing (whatever the hell that means) to his name and the visitor badge they handed him at the front desk isn’t enough to hide the rest of him and he already forgot which floor he has to hit up and it’s been about three months since he last talked to Yusei on the phone, and two whole years since he’s seen him in person.

Kiryu takes a deep breath when the elevator door slides shut.

The glass panels would be impressive if the view weren’t so nauseating the higher up you go. God damn it, Crow. Jerk. He frowns and jabs a thumb into the button labeled “5”. When pressed, it lights up with a swirl of prism rainbows, pure energy swimming against his skin. Nice touch. What if popping up at random will upset Yusei more? The floor number overhead ticks to “3”. A surprise visit is such a bad idea. Kiryu wonders why he even agreed to come. He could use a smoke, but he quit a long time ago. No amount of nicotine can shake the fear of seeing his face again. What’s the big deal? Why?

Ding. 

Kiryu’s eyes dart forward as the door clunks, then slowly opens. Shit, he didn’t think of what to say. Casual is the way to go-

_“Kiryu?”_

They’re nose-to-nose by the time Kiryu realizes he’s almost plowed right into his best friend, his better half. Yusei- no, _Dr. Fudo Yusei,_ says the shiny metal badge pinned to his breast pocket. Dr. Fudo Yusei stares back at him with wide ocean eyes and tiny reading glasses. He’s wearing a crisp white coat and a pastel turquoise button-up undone at the top, simple yet flattering on his modestly toned form. In his arms is a small stack of papers resting on top of a clipboard, all written in a language Kiryu is sure only PhDs can parse. 

Yusei is making a difference helping people in a city that never loved him back. But when he’s this close, Kiryu can see the purpling bags under his eyes, both glassy from exhaustion.

When he’s this close, Kiryu remembers the four-letter word for that nameless fear in his gut.

“That’s what they call me,” Kiryu exhales and puts on a wry smile, stepping back and sliding one hand into his pocket. Yusei is poised, professional, and clean—standing before him in his dusty black coat, Kiryu couldn’t possibly feel more dirty where they stand in stark contrast across from each other in the glass elevator. Black, white, clear, and Fortune. This elevator ain't big enough for a cowboy and a scientist. “Which floor, Doctor?”

“Kiryu, I- when did you get here?” The grin that spreads on Yusei’s face makes Kiryu want to retch in all the right ways. Can’t he just tell him which floor? “What’s the occasion?” 

Two years, and Yusei still can’t imagine a reality where he’s the rhyme and reason for anything. Why else would he come out to a laboratory in the heart of Neo Domino City? To look at the tiling on the floor? If he doesn’t get how much he matters by now, will he ever? Kiryu’s head starts throbbing between the eyes. “Just passing through to get supplies,” he gets out, treading water as he chokes in the flood of every thought he’s had about Yusei and the things that are wrong with him and the things that aren’t. The elevator feels smaller as it all rushes in, shimmering like a glass sea as he drowns. Keep talking. “Wanted to get some new things for the kids, too. Can’t buy everything at a corner store,” he forces a laugh, but it doesn’t fit in his mouth. 

Why did he come? Why did he let Crow twist his arm into this? Why didn't Crow even _tell Yusei_ he'd be here? Kiryu doesn’t know how to “help” anything, to “fix” anything, that was always Yusei’s job. Where Yusei holds a wrench, Kiryu is always holding a knife. He’s caustic like chemical burns from battery acid and if he spends too much time around Yusei he’s going to fuck it all up worse, fuck _him_ up worse and- no. Sliding his hands into his pockets, he breathes. 

In his mind he closes that rusted door, turns the lock, and swallows the key with a sincere smile. One that fits. “You think of that floor yet? We can take a ride up and down a few times if you want,” he teases, “but you probably have work to do.”

“Oh- uh, the Lobby, actually. I was about to leave for the day.”

“Ah. Guess I’m too late to visit,” he rubs the back of his neck, shoulders relaxing a bit. An excuse. Is he relieved? Or is that just another word for disappointed? “It’s fine, though. I can come back some other-”

“It’s fine,” Yusei blurts in a way that makes Kiryu pause—so unlike him to interrupt before he listens. That’s new, but so is the rest of him, so is the way Kiryu’s heart catches in his throat when he keeps talking. “Let’s catch up. Have you had dinner yet?”

Say yes, just say yes and go-

“No,” Kiryu admits, and even worse, he follows through. “Have you?”

Ding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> since i haven't mentioned it yet—all of the chapter titles are lines from songs in my yuukyou playlist. here you go: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0qdQTxndFZD0V5p7kPnfxh?si=FRFshMaWQUWkJl3fms267g


	4. when we all fall asleep, where do we go?*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *WARNINGS FOR: unreality, self-harm, body horror, mild-moderate gore, extreme mechanical gore.

Where the razor carves lovingly along Kiryu's skin, rivulets of root beer fizz and crackle from his open veins.

"Hey, Kiryu?" Nico holds his hand as they walk across the street to the general store. She swings his arm back and forth, but it doesn’t stop. He keeps cutting. Just have to run a few errands. He keeps cutting without cutting but he knows he's the one making fresh scars pop open and drip down his fingers into the dirt. Nico smiles, rosy as ever. "Do you like root beer?"

"Haven't had it in a long time." Words feel heavier on his tongue, and his face is too small for his thoughts like lockjaw, like his brain is rusted shut. "Why?"

"We make a special kind here. Tourists come try it, so it must be better than the kind they usually drink," she giggles. “I was thinking if we focused our exporting efforts there instead of the mines, that may significantly help with rebuilding the town.” Kiryu wants to let go of her hand so none of the soda dribbles and soaks into her skin. He should really let go. His fingers twist and braid together. "You ought to try it, too. Why don't we bring some back? West will be excited. It's his favorite."

They step through the wooden doorframe and he's in the bathroom at their house, it’s four in the morning. Alone, naked in the mirror, silver hair wild and draping over his shoulders. There's a hard orange light glaring somewhere behind him and he sees it without looking—it burns his flesh and he's sweating, staring himself down, muddy hazel eyes darting in all directions. the faucet runs and it's all whiskey, stinging in his open wounds. Steam rises from each laceration like volcanic ash, like something's gotta give, like the floor isn't flooding up to his ankles.

"She found out, didn’t she?"

In the mirror glass. The dead man’s face. The man with uneven blue hair and red yellow blue wires fraying out from under his eyes, an electric circuit of tears. He smiles so gently but it's crooked like the rest of him, dented and crushed in. "There are some things you can’t hide no matter how hard you try. She knew you couldn’t sleep without a bottle.” 

The glass cracks. His reflection splinters. The faucet keeps running, hissing like gasoline static in Kiryu's ears. The dead man speaks, and his words skip like cracked vinyl. "When I started- when I. Remember. When I started to- to remember.” The words don’t fit together right, like a wrench tightening the wrong-sized socket. "Too. I did it, too. Keeping secrets but- but time isn't good at keeping secrets."

"Why are you here,” Kiryu coughs, sputtering as the flood reaches up to his chin. His vision glints amber, eyes watering. “Who are you?"

“I don’t know.”

Something grabs Kiryu's ankle and pulls him under through the sea of whiskey and the bathroom floor. He chokes and feels every muscle in his body tense, lurch, relax. It’s not the first time he remembers sinking, falling deeper and closer to whispering voices; on the way down he sees the spinning bottles, each one he drank last week hurtling with him into nowhere. He sees violet circles, a pulsing indigo glow from a place in his mind he dares not visit, begs not to go again.

Reality flips upright and stops in a nauseating stillness. When he starts breathing again he smells like alcohol from head to toe, and he's standing in a garage that isn't his.

“Aha! I got it, I got it!”

That’s Lua—one of the twins Yusei tells him about, the ones who send letters and still visit the lab. His sister Luca is there too, puffing out her cheeks when she notices her brother found the missing screw first. All across the floor are other screws, nuts, bolts and rusted wrenches. But they aren’t the right ones. Only the parts that the twins pick up are the right ones. Luca scoops up a handful of loose keys. “Here,” she says, handing them off to the dead man, the man with kind gray eyes, the man who left too soon but feels like he’s still there. “Do these work, Bruno?”

“Mhm! I think they should.” Bruno wipes his brow and holds out both hands, letting Luca pour in the silver keys and Lua drop off each screw he plucks from the floor one at a time. He’s fixing something, or trying to, but he’s not using his hands—he can’t, as the pile of raw materials starts to overflow in his grasp. He smiles. “Thanks for helping! I couldn’t do it without my favorite assistants.”

 _“We’re_ your favorites?” Lua gasps. “I thought Yusei was your favorite.”

“Lua! Don’t just say things!”

“It’s okay, Luca,” Bruno laughs, shaking his head. “I don’t have any favorites. You’re all very precious to me.” The metal odds and ends in his hands begin to melt, dissolving into a pool of translucent silver. Liquid starlight pours freely through his grasp, spilling iridescent droplets that glitter as they slide down his fingertips. “That’s why we’re part of a team; we should all be each other’s favorites.”

“Aww. So we’re not special?” Lua pouts. “I guess you’re right. But we don’t really know each other enough. Hmmgh,” he tilts his head to the side, putting a hand on his hip. “Hey, where are you even from, Bruno? Do you have a house, too?”

Something cracks. Kiryu stares, transfixed in place as Bruno’s face starts to crumble away. A plate of false skin breaks off and clatters to the floor, revealing gray and cobalt microchip innards. He looks down at it, then at Kiryu, his eyes fearful, pleading.

“Oh, and what about your family?” Luca chirps.

Family—the shoulder snaps. It dislodges from its socket and his arm falls loose. It bounces once before resting still, silent.

“Do you have other mechanic friends, too?”

Friends—the chest cavity pops, spitting driblets of that same liquid starlight where a heart should be. Bruno swallows thickly and looks down, shaking, watching the pieces of his body collapse and fall among the loose screws. Kiryu tries to step forward but he can’t; his feet are sinking into the concrete, his legs just as leaden as the broken android in front of him. “I don’t want to remember, I-I don’t want anyone to know,” Bruno manages, his eyes wide and spilling tears that glitter like prisms, each carrying full spectra of colors from this world and a future far apart. “I want to stay-”

“Stop talking,” Kiryu calls out to the twins, but they don’t hear. He knows. “Listen to me! Guys!”

“Do you miss them?” Lua asks, and Luca repeats.

“Do you miss your friends?”

Bruno locks eyes with Kiryu. He opens his mouth and there’s a persistent clicking interspersed with wet gurgling, gagging. “Hnngh,” Bruno strains, whimpering and grasping at his stiffened neck like he’s choking, fighting to breathe and the enamel cracks clean across the base where metal windpipe meets synthetic collarbones. No matter how much Kiryu begs his eyes to close they’re peeled open, drinking in the visceral crunch of Bruno’s frame, the neck ruptured and carved loose from the shoulders that spit loose wires. Each colorful vein is yanked taut and snaps one by one as the parts rupture, red thread, yellow thread, black and blue, shooting off sparks. His body collapses on its side, leaving a dark, exposed cavity of metal at the neck. Something like gasoline spurts weakly from the wound as his dulled gray eyes rolling closer.

The head stops at Kiryu’s feet, staring up at him in silence.

“Fuck!” 

Kiryu jolts upright, gasping. He fumbles for the nightstand that isn’t there because he’s not at home- right. Crow’s house. The rickety cot. The D-Wheel magazines under the bed. The feathers hanging on the walls, the quiet puff of Crow’s snoring, the smell of corn chips and motor oil. Familiar things, warm things—friendly things. Inhaling deep, he sits and reads the posters on the walls, goes through a mental inventory of the items in the room. Counts his pulse on his fingertips, tapping them together. His hands shake. A few years back he would’ve grabbed a smoke from the jacket he always slept in. For the first time since quitting, he wishes he had one.

For the first time since dying, he remembers what it was like to be afraid of ghosts.


	5. bittersweet, i know

There’s a stack of magazines all around and under Crow’s bed, and Kiryu is almost disappointed none of them are porn. It’d make some very entertaining leverage.

"So how'd it go? You like the lab?"

The shabby old mattress on the guest bed creaks when Crow jumps on it, sitting cross-legged next to Kiryu. Flipping through an auto magazine, Kiryu continues leaning his back against the wall, choosing to ignore the way Crow keeps waggling his eyebrows. Can't help but smile, though. Crow has that effect on people and he knows it. "It went fine." Kiryu flips past an ad for a D-Wheel mod shop featuring a bike with bright gold, douchebag-brass horns on the front. Were he about five years younger, he’d be all over that. “Got there a little too late, though. He was just leaving for the night."

"Oh, shoot. Sorry," Crow taps his fingers on his knee, restless as ever. He's always been buzzing and receptive and fired-up like a running motor. Too much passion packed into his shrimp body. Kiryu has always liked that about him. They're the same—or they were, anyway. "Must've mixed up the days. But you still got to hang, right?"

"Yeah. He strongarmed me into dinner."

"What, did he drag you by the ankles?" Crow snorts, folding his arms behind his head and joining Kiryu against the wall. "You’re making it sound like it sucked.”

"It was nice. We caught up."

“Uh-huh. And?”

“And we ate food.”

“What kinda food?”

“The edible kind.”

"Aaaagh, c'mon Kiryu!” Crow grabs a pillow and whacks Kiryu with it, laughing. “Tell me man, I'm curious! What'd you eat? What'd you talk about?"

Kiryu just smiles, tracing his fingers along the glossy paper of the magazine in his lap. He licks his finger to turn the page. "You're not slick, Crow."

"What? I'm just-"

"We talked about our jobs,” he sighs and keeps skimming some article about customizing efficiency. Optimal parts that harmonize to keep pistons firing and Fortune spinning. "The kids, the weather, you know. Normal shit. Does that satisfy your curiosity? We’re not kids anymore, Crow." Kiryu smiles faintly. “Nobody to rob, no warehouses to set on fire. It’s better that way, right?”

Right?

“Don’t lie, man. I know you miss it.” Crow snorts. “That’s terrible, right? That I miss it sometimes, too. Why would anybody wanna go back to doing the shit we did? Couldn’t tell ya.”

It makes more sense to Kiryu than anything else has in a while. This new normal, the one where he cleans and goes to the grocery store each week and raises two kids—some days he wakes up and can’t see the ceiling. Only the dark skies of Satellite, and all the constellations that haunt him. That’s the only normal he really knows. He hums thoughtfully. “I know what you mean. Got any fireworks? We could go to the bay and blow off some steam.”

“I’m down! Tomorrow, though.” Crow yawns, stretching. “I’m turnin’ in. Good to see you again, though.” He pats Kiryu on the shoulder, beaming. “Seriously. You should come around more often.”

Kiryu punches his shoulder playfully. “I’ll think about it.”

“You better. G’night, man.”


	6. feeling inside that i can't domesticate

"How are the kids?"

Far as taverns go, this one's cozy. It looks enough like their childhood dives to feel like home, but not enough to put Kiryu on edge—emerald LEDs in flickering paper lanterns, mahogany walls and tables, splinters and chipped corners and leaking pipes. That familiar scent of rain-soaked wood and cheap sake. It's an old, weathered beauty tucked between warehouses by the bay, complete with a view of the Daedalus Bridge. Its gold infinity crown shimmers in the violet dusk; Yusei's question pulls Kiryu's thoughts back in through the window. "They're doing well," he says, taking a swig of whiskey. "Nico helps out with the neighbors' horses and gets free riding lessons. I told her you can't mod a horse like a D-Wheel," he snorts. "But she says she wants to duel that way. West is all over it now, too."

"That sounds fun- er, and dangerous. Shouldn't you tell them to stop?"

"As if D-Wheels are any safer. Don't worry, though: I'm saving up to send them to the Academy here. They'll learn better ways to entertain themselves. Of all the things I've seen in this city, a horseback duelist isn't one of them."

"Haha. I have a friend who would, if she could. Have you met Sherry?"

"Not yet. Sounds like someone I'd grab a drink with though, from what you've told me." 

"I wonder which of you holds your liquor better… but yeah, that's nice," Yusei smiles, a bright light pushing through the dark bags under his eyes. "Maybe you'll be visiting more often, then."

_ (will you?) _

There are some questions Yusei prefers to ask with his hands—he fiddles with the napkin in front of him, folding it into smaller and smaller triangles. He doesn't ask for things or about things that make him feel like he's intruding (which is just about everything, as far as Kiryu remembers). There's a certain quiet geometry to the way Yusei moves and thinks. If you can parse it, he'll relax in your company; no need for a translator.

"Maybe." Kiryu shrugs, setting down his glass. "If I've got the means, I want them to have the opportunities they deserve. That's all." Even if it means facing the rusted iron teeth of this city, seeing the bars of his cage up close again after so long. No open space, nowhere to run. Just concrete and blood under his fingernails, scraping and begging for a way out. He downs the rest of his whiskey. "Are you sure you want me around more often, though?" He rests an elbow on the creaking table with a wry smirk. "I'm a  _ wild cowboy _ , now. I'm big trouble."

"No you're not," Yusei's brow furrows just a little, sincere as ever. "You're fine, Kiryu. I'm happy you're here."

_ (please be okay.) _

"It was just a joke," Kiryu chuckles. "Don't overthink it."

And Yusei will say he won't, but he'll be lying; Kiryu knows he is always thinking and thinking himself into the black holes in his nightmares, the empty spaces where he can't see the stars.  He will expect it when Yusei unfolds the napkin in his hands, just to fold it up tight again. But not the words that come after.

"I've missed you," Yusei admits, showing a faint smile. "It's good to see you, Kiryu. This is nice."

Kiryu reaches for his empty glass and tries to take one last phantom sip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slow burn is very hard when you're a writer who craves instant gratification... but the emotional payoff will be good. that's what i tell myself, at least.


End file.
